The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
by OnceUponAShipper
Summary: The holidays are upon the town of Storybrooke and it's up to the Swan-Mills family to bring the desserts to the party. This is what happens when Emma, Regina, and Henry decide to work together... or not. Swan-Queen one-shot!


**A/N** - I asked Tumblr if anyone had any SQ suggestions/requests for one-shots, since that's all I [barely] have time for right now. I received two messages. One of the suggestions was: _"have them bake something for christmas! maybe involve henry too or not your choice."_ (My Tumblr account is isupersheng) I'm probably going to miss the winter finale tonight, but I'll watch it later. After finals, I'll get back to my current fics. Until then, enjoy!

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><p>"Seriously? I told you— I told you specifically to set the time for <em>15<em> minutes! Not 50!" Regina ran into the kitchen, waving her hands over her face in an attempt to clear the swirling gray smoke. She tried not to inhale too deeply, for fear of choking on the scent of burning food. Eventually, she gave up the mundane approach and magicked the fog away. In seconds, the room was cleared off all evidence of Emma's misfortune. With purple oven mitts, Regina removed the pan and tossed it on top of the stove, her bottom lip sticking out just slightly in exasperation.

With one arm around her son, Emma came shuffling in. Both she and Henry pinched their noses as they approached the unfortunate batch of cookies. Several boxes-worth of tidbits had already made it through the heat and back, all of which had turned out perfectly thanks to Regina. Emma and Henry were only granted one pan each, so as not to feel left out. A print-out of instructions had been handed out to the both of them, as Regina knew it all by heart. Emma had assured the brunette she had everything under control. That is, until the smoke-detector went off.

"Well… that's awkward," Emma mumbled as she spotted the blackened treats in the shape of Christmas trees. Regina lifted one, let go, and let it plop onto the hard surface; it landed with a hard "thud." Offering an apologetic smile, Emma motioned to her failed creations. "I could just—"

"No, no, no. That won't be necessary," Regina said quickly. "We agreed to do this the normal way."

"Yeah, but it would only take a second—"

"I said no, Emma Swan," Madame Mayor repeated with her hands on her hips. "Now, it's your turn, young man. Let's see if you can follow directions better than your mother." Regina waited as Henry retrieved his metal sheet obediently, though not without a sympathetic look at Emma. "There we go," Regina grunted as she closed the front door. Setting the clock for 15 minutes exactly, she wiped her hands on her red apron and gave her two loves a congenial smile.

Emma and Henry shared a skeptical expression: their eyebrows raised in unison, a trait that had taken Regina by surprise the first time it happened. But, as the months went on— as she and Emma grew closer— she came around to appreciating the similarities between Emma and Henry more and more.

"You know, when you volunteered to bake for the party at Granny's tonight, I thought you were just joking," Emma mused.

"Of course not, dear. When have I ever joked about something like that?" Regina wondered.

"I dunno, I just never pegged you for a festive-person," the Savior remarked.

"Yes, well, there are still thing you don't know about me." The Queen raised an eyebrow in Emma's direction and the blonde blushed ever-so-slightly. "In fact, I used to make desserts for Henry's class when he was younger. They all _loved_ my baking."

"It's true," Henry nodded. "I told you, Mom, she gets crazy when she's in the kitchen," he chuckled.

Noting the micromanaging Regina was currently taking part in, Emma couldn't help but laugh along. "I can see that. It's a good thing she can cook, because clearly, I can't."

"Yes, clearly," Regina agreed with an exaggerated eye roll. Craning her neck just slightly, she searched the counters for something she was sure she'd taken out earlier. "Hm," she sighed disapprovingly. "That's funny." Breaking away from their small huddle, Regina walked around the island twice with a furrowed brow. "Have either of you seen the—" she paused when she turned around and found Emma and Henry with the same mischievous grins. Together, they pulled their hand out from behind their backs. Henry had the red and green sprinkles and Emma had two tubs of white frosting. Realizing how they'd disappeared so seamlessly, Regina gave Emma a disapproving frown. "I thought we said no magic."

The lids on all four containers were removed— that could only mean one thing. "We said no magic during _baking_. But this isn't baking… I'm sorry about the cookies," Emma added unconvincingly. "But you really shouldn't have taken your eyes off of these."

Slowly, Regina began backing away; however, she didn't get very far, as Henry and Emma had split up and cornered off the entryways. "Please tell me you're not about to do what I think you're going to do?" When neither of them attempted to respond, Regina said shakily, "If either of you have any regard for your own well-being, I suggest you both lower your weapons." Again, nothing from the two mysterious ones. "I mean it. We've got less than three hours before we have to get to the diner. Everyone'll be waiting. And you know how I don't like to keep people waiting."

"Didja hear that, Kid? Three hours. That sounds like enough time, right?" Emma called over to her son.

"Sounds like more than enough time, Mom," Henry agreed.

"Henry Mills-Swan, I'm warning you. If you take part in this foolishness, no video games for a month," Regina threatened. However, the little prince was not so easily intimidated. He merely shrugged and continued to inch closer to her. "Emma Swan, you know better than to set this kind of example!" Regina hissed, a last effort to maintain her dignity.

"True," Emma noted. "But, yanno. We spent all day getting the supplies and mixing them together, sitting and waiting for that timer to go off. It's kinda boring, dontcha think?" She watched in amusement as Regina's pupils shrank in fear. "I figure we've got about 12 minutes."

As Henry and Emma closed in on her, Regina panicked. She had no way of defending herself. But then, she spotted a burlap bag across the room. With a flick of her wrist, the sack of flour flew into her hands and she was suddenly armed and dangerous. "Are you absolutely sure you want to play this game?" she questioned in her Queen's voice.

Emma and Henry exchanged yet another moment of telepathic communication before they both stared at Regina. "Do your worst," the blonde said.

As if they'd all counted to three in their heads, Emma, Regina, and Henry engaged in an all-out war of ingredients. Fistfuls of flour shot through the air as clumps of icing were launched over the battle field and sprinkles stuck to frosted surfaces. Bursts of cackling and rounds of giggles echoed through the space as the family became walking decorations.

"Take that!" Henry guffawed as he poured half a can of colorful specks onto Regina's painted forehead.

"You're in trouble now!" his mother huffed as she doused him in powder.

"Oh no you don't!" Emma swooped in and saved the boy by pressing her palms into Regina's cheeks, now covered in frosting.

The trio continued their attacks, their stomachs tightening from their raucous laughter. None of them cared that the curtains were pulled or that the window directly outlooked a busy street. They were all having too much fun.

After a while, once everyone's hair was sticky and their faces were hidden behind the sweet paste, the timer that Regina had set rang through the kitchen. Emma, Regina, and Henry immediately stopped what they were doing mid-attack and glared at the oven. The floor was a mess, the counters were buried beneath layers of toppings, and the family could all stand for a shower.

Scanning the room and taking inventory of her girlfriend and son, Emma bit her bottom lip as her shoulders shuddered. Henry's eyes were the only discernible features underneath a mask of frosting and his shirt was plastered with flour; he closely resembled a ghost. Meanwhile, Regina's usually-tidy hair had sprinkles glued to her roots and her apron was nearly invisible. Both of them looked like children with their hands caught in the treat-jar, frozen in their spots.

Slightly out of breath from their food-fight, Emma nodded to the oven. "Cookies are ready."


End file.
